Page 57 of His Ruthless Vow

"I'm sorry," he mutters very uncomfortably. It's like he's never had to say the words in his life and he feels too uncomfortable to whisper them. "You deserved better than what happened, Alana." And just like that, he shows his true colors. He can't apologize for his part, just that I deserved better than what happened. There's no personal accountability in this apology or acceptance of responsibility in any way. He feels remorse that I suffered, but not that he's the one who caused part of it.

"I deserved the truth," I say. "I deserved for you to fight for me and shout from the rooftops what happened so the world would take notice and right that wrong."

"You deserved all of that," he agrees, and his head drops. I watch his shoulders sag and his chest deflate. "The wedding was just…" He fumbles for words, looking up at me. "The twenty-five million was supposed to be a way to set things right."

"Money? Batya, how does money make things right?" I feel like crying but I blink back the tears. He's not going to see me break down in sadness. He deserves my anger right now.

"I don't know, Lana." The nickname pricks my heart. "Maybe I could pay for your schooling, or fund your projects. I could buy you the world and⁠—"

"And not have to be a father and fight for what's right?" I hiss, tucking into Dimitri’s side. His arm tightens around my shoulder as Batya's head falls again. When I look at Dimitri, he has a look of compassion, and I realize I'm being too harsh.

"I should've done that," Batya says. "I see that now."

"Do you?" I ask, and I don't try to hide the skepticism in my voice. "Or do you just see that you've lost? Your daughters have turned against you, and your empire's crumbling. The control you valued more than my happiness has slipped through your fingers."

Batya flinches, but he doesn't look away. "I still believe killing Ivan was necessary," he says. "He hurt you, and he needed to pay for that. But I should've told the world what he did, let them see that justice was served. And I should've gone to the council to tell them the truth so the Sokolovs were handled properly."

That honest confession is more than I expected from him. "I accept your apology," I say, "but I can't say I forgive you right now. Too much hurt has happened between us, and that just has to be enough for you right now."

"It is," he says, but he still looks up at Dimitri as if he's diseased. I wonder if that will ever change. If my father will ever see Dimitri as a man capable of loving me for who I am or if there will always be bad blood because of the past and this conflict we're trying to end.

When Alexei joins us, leaving Mikhail to sulk in a chair across the room, the council members return from their huddle, and Mr. Petrov resumes his seat. All eyes turn on him as he begins to speak. "We've reached a decision," he says, and the room goes silent.

But before he can continue, Mikhail steps forward with a stern expression and a furrowed brow. "Wait," he says, and he looks at Dimitri. He's a terrifying man even here where I know I'm safe. "I need to say something first."

He turns to face the council, and his shoulders sag. But when he speaks, I listen. "I've spent five years hating Nikolai Volskaya," he says, "blaming him for everything that went wrong, for every loss, for every drop of blood. This entire feud started because he murdered my son."

He looks at Dimitri, and his face relaxes from anger into remorse. "But the feud has cost me more than I ever expected. It cost me my son and the respect of my soldiers, the loyalty of my men, the future I thought I was building. I've been fighting for an empire that doesn't exist anymore, and I didn't even see it until my own children stood against me."

Petrov lifts his chin, narrowing his eyes on Dimitri's father as he continues. "I don't know how to fix this," he mumbles quietly. It appears admitting fault is difficult for every Pakhan—maybe Dimitri isn't a good choice to lead if that's one of the requirements. "I don't know if it can be fixed. But I know I don't want to lose any more. I don't want to wake up one day and realize my pride cost me everything."

He looks at Dimitri with regret and affection in his eyes. "I chose blood over justice and taught my sons that violence was strength. It's not."

Dimitri clears his throat, not fully impressed by his father’s sudden show of remorse. I'm not, either. We both know these men will say and do anything to manipulate a situation. Who knows if they're being transparent with us about how they really feel or if this is some act we'll come to regret? Mr. Petrov clears his throat, and we all turn to face him, waiting for the words that will decide our future.

"The council has reviewed the evidence," he says sternly. "We've verified the claims regarding Ivan Sokolov's crimes and the subsequent cover-up. We recognize that both families contributed to the conflict that followed, and that choices made in anger and pride escalated a tragedy into a war."

He pauses, and I hold my breath, feeling like all of my past, present, and future life hangs on what he says next.

"The council formally acknowledges the truth of what occurred," he continues. "And we recognize that Alana Volskaya has been denied justice for five years. That ends today."

Tears spill over as Natalia's hand squeezes mine, and Dimitri's arm curls around my waist, holding me up. I don't know what I hoped to accomplish by forcing Mikhail to admit his son hurt me, but it's done. The council recognizes that assault and they'll make sure it never happens again to anyone, or if it does, it will be dealt with swiftly.

"We'll reconvene in two weeks to discuss terms of peace. Until then, gentlemen," Petrov says, narrowing his eyes on our fathers, "I strongly recommend reining in your men. We have a common enemy we could be fighting instead of each other."

The reminder that the Korelovs seek to destroy us all is much-needed. Our families still have a lot at stake, and unless our fathers wake up and do the right thing, the temporary cease-fire between bloodlines might mean very little.

37

DIMITRI

Alana is pacing with Misha, trying to calm him down. The council meeting starts in ten minutes and he chooses now to be a little fussy. I lean against the wall and watch her, thinking how beautiful she is, even more so now that motherhood has settled in and she's enjoying it. I can't believe it's been two weeks already since we stood up to our fathers and demanded that the council force them to take accountability for what happened.

"I think he's going to sleep again," she says softly, so as not to wake him. When she stops beside where I lean on the wall, I push off and stand beside her, kissing her on the forehead.

"You're really good at that," I tell her, smiling. "You're such a good mother."

Alana shrugs a shoulder and sighs, handing me our boy. He's so tiny and so fragile. Defending him against what I know our fathers might try to do in there is something I've thought a lot about—and the future I have with Alana. Everything still seems uncertain except my love for her.